


Meetings

by siberianchan



Series: Sing for me [6]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Viktor meets his father-in-law, they're getting started in Milan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-28 06:03:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15701328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siberianchan/pseuds/siberianchan
Summary: Milan greets them with warm sunshine, familiar faces and hard work to do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! So, for anyone stumbling over this little thing here and is confused - "Meetings" is a short, little follow-up to my other fanfiction "Sing for me", so... before you read this, I'd advise you to struggle through 34 chapters and some other boni that all are set in an Historical AU in the opera scene of Dresden 1848. ... or you can check this out, see if you like it and then go and read "Sing for me".  
> In any case have fun. :D

They had decided – without even talking about it, they just agreed on it without ever uttering a single word – to walk the last bit to Milan, rather than taking a carriage.

The market place of a small village, only a few miles from town, had been their last stop and Viktor had been immediately grateful for this splendid idea.

He could watch Yuuri breathe in deeply the air that smelled and tasted and sang of home, he could adore how he blinked into the sun and then how his eyes grew wide at the sight of the deep-blue, Milanese afternoon sky.

“It does feel good to be home, I take?” he asked.

Yuuri turned around to him, a bright smile still on his face that he had started quite a while ago. “It’s good to smell familiar air again,” he agreed.

People were looking at them, two obvious foreigners with no luggage to speak of, one of them obviously Asian.

Yuuri lowered his head. “Let’s see if we can find some place to stay the night?”

“Should we not try to get to Milan first?” Viktor asked. He looked up to the sky. “It is not that late. I am sure we could make it before nightfall. Or only a little after.”

Yuuri shook his head. “Let’s save the walk for tomorrow, yes? The ride was exhausting enough. I’d like to have some food and then sit on a meadow and watch the sheep and the people and then sleep. We can walk in the morning, arrive in Milan by noon and then have an afternoon to find lodgings before we let Celestino know we’ve arrived.” His smile grew a little shaky as he said these words.

Viktor couldn’t lie and claim he wasn’t relieved about this little reprieve and he didn’t say anything about it until late at night when they had found the local inn, eaten a bowl of excellent little potato dumplings fried in olive oil and served with a basil paste as well as thin strips of beef, and then sat on a meadow to watch the sunset.

Over food and sunset, they had shared two decently sized flasks of wine and now Viktor’s limbs were pleasantly heavy and his head enjoyably light.

Yuuri had left his own small bed and crawled under his blanket. They laid there, Viktor’s head on Yuuri’s chest as he let the rhythm of his pulse slowly reverberate through his body.

Yuuri’s hand in his hair made in -mit entirely perfect, he found.

“Well,” Yuuri sighed, tongue and breath heavy with wine, “tomorrow we’ll be in Milan and Celestino will know we’re there and...” He sighed once more.

“Are you scared?” Viktor asked softly.

Yuuri was silent for a moment. Then he mumbled, “Not scared. Nervous, I’d say, I mean…” He laughed a little. “Well, I feel a little like a wayward daughter, coming home and presenting the man she ran away with and is expecting a child from.”

A chuckle bubbled up in Viktor’s throat. “Oh dear. Really!”

“Really,” Yuuri laughed as his hand ran over Viktor’s hair and neck and back until Viktor felt compelled to turn him on his back.

“Maybe we should try and see if I can give you something to show for your worries.”

For this Yuuri gently slapped his hand, but he didn’t complain or refuse when Viktor kissed and undressed him.

They enjoyed each other with muted, muffled sighs, moans getting lost in each other’s mouths and hair and skin and tangled sheets.

Viktor closed his eye, listening to Yuuri’s still rushed breath, relishing in his heart beat.

“What if he disapproves?”, he finally asked.

Yuuri waited for three breaths before he answered. “He won’t.” He then swallowed and breathed again.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Well.” Yuuri shrugged against him. “I hope.”

Silence hang between them.

“What if he does?” Viktor finally asked. It was hurtful to Yuuri, yes, it was, but they should clear the matter up right away.

Yuuri breathed in and out. In and out. His breath tickled over Viktor’s cheek. “He won’t,” he then repeated. “I think. I really think so. I hope. And...”

“And?” Viktor asked.

“And if he really doesn’t approve of you, then...” He sighed and kissed Viktor’s brow. “Well. There are other theatres and we are good enough to make it anywhere.”

Viktor’s heart widened and opened at his words. How far his love had come from their first meeting once. It seemed to be so much longer than it actually had been.

 _We_.

 _We are good enough_.

He lifted his face to meet Yuuri’s lips with his own. “We are, love, we most definitely are.”

 

They left early in the morning, paid for their room, their dinner last night and the breakfast they had taken before leaving; the inn keeper then had handed them a kerchief filled with some bread, cheese and hard garlic sausage, along with a jug of wine. “For lunch,” she had said and battered her eye lashes at Viktor.

He gracefully and gratefully had accepted the food, smiling so brightly that she had blushed and giggled.

They had eaten and drunk their lunch around noon, having found some shadow in an olive orchard. After a small nap they continued, but they slowed down now that they were getting closer and closer to Milan.

Yuuri sometimes stopped and looked along the road, then back, before he went on again with a sigh.

His steps, too, were just a little slower, Viktor noticed.

And when they were just about to reach the borders of the city he held Yuuri’s hand. “Shall we go?”

Yuuri lifted his gaze up to him and then smiled.

“Nervous?” Viktor asked.

“A little, yes.” Yuuri looked up to the first line of houses. Somewhere, somewhere in this maze they would get to the old city wall enclosing the inner city of Milan. It was long obsolete and not watched and guarded anymore and Viktor remembered that Yuuri had told him that as a child he would climb the walls, balancing on it, running on top of it while Celestino would yell in worry he might break his neck.

They wandered the streets, parallel to the city wall, looking out for an inn that would offer them at least a few days of lodging and fare.

“Have you written Celestino an exact date of our arrival?” he asked.

A house in front of them sported a large sign reading _Albergho._

“You are more familiar here,” Viktor said, “I have no idea where we are.”

“Close to the theatre. Over there, along the Via Pattari, then after a while to the right.” Yuuri seized the house up and down. “I know this place. Was a favourite first landing spot for new staff members back in the day. They’re alright. The food is edible.” He smiled and opened the door, beckoning Viktor to follow him inside.

The main room of the inn was large, with a low, arched ceiling and white-washed walls. It betrayed the house as being a lot older on the inside than the front would have suggested.

Yuuri looked around and then waved for a thin woman. “Scusi! Signora Catanei!”

The woman turned around and Viktor had a moment to admire her clean, finely embroidered dress while she in turn looked them up and down. “Aren’t you Cialdini’s boy?” She finally asked.

Yuuri laughed nervously. “I am.”

The woman put her hands to her hips and seized Yuuri up and down. “I thought you had left. Prague was it?”

“Dresden, actually.” Yuuri said. “And as you can see, I am back now.”

For the first time Viktor noticed that Yuuri spoke with a dialect that was markedly different, but just as notorious as Sara’s.

She shrugged. “Ah. Your master knows?”

Yuuri made a face at that, but he collected himself quite quickly. “He knows we’re coming, but I couldn’t tell him an exact date.” He cleared his throat. “Do you have a room for two people vacant?”

“Two.” Now she looked at Viktor. “You are?”

“Co-worker and friend,” Yuuri said quickly. “From Dresden. Is there room?”

The woman wrinkled her nose. “You can pay?”

Viktor could see Yuuri quickly crunching numbers in his head. “Your rates are the same as a year ago?”

“Eh. If I’m too expensive none of these young bloods would come and stay.”

Yuuri smiled. “Exactly. I’ve always admired your business sense. I think we’ll take a room for a week for now. Then we’ll see.”

The woman stared at them.

Viktor watched Yuuri wince and he was tempted to join him.

Then she sighed. “I’ll foot it to Cialdini if you can’t pay. Hopefully he’ll clout your ears.”

Yuuri chuckled. “I hope we have found employment and a permanent place to live before it comes to that.”

She went to her desk and picked a pair of keys from a board. “Second floor. Third door to the left. You pay weekly. Two pounds per week.”

Viktor only had a vague idea about Milanese currencies and their worth, but that sounded like a hefty sum.

Yuuri made a bit of a face, confirming the feeling, but he nodded. “Done. If we stay longer than, say, four weeks, would the price go down?”

The Catanei grumbled.

Yuuri smiled a sweet smile, one of the smiles Viktor liked best.

“We’ll see,” she said.

 

Viktor had thought that they would head straight to Maestro Cialdini, but instead Yuuri took him on a stroll through the city, the streets along some palazzi and piazzi, explaining the layout of the city and some favourite childhood haunts of his, places where he could hide for a while and calm down when his nerves had gotten the better of him or where he would be alone and free to not see anyone.

Yuuri’s childhood had always seemed quite lonely to Viktor from what little he had told him, and the impression only grew stronger. It made sense. In Dresden he had made only a few friends. Those had been good and close friends from what he had seen, but Yuuri had never sought them out at first. Viktor suspected that as a boy his shyness had been even worse.

And then he had paused. “I think Mila and Sara live over there in the Via Tomasso Grossi,” he then said.

Sara.

Viktor’s stomach dropped a little. “Oh.”

Yuuri turned to look at him and after a moment he said, “Apparently you got drunk together quite often.”

“She is a fine drinking partner,” Viktor said, smiling. “Has she ever told you about the time we invited the chorus and got them all so drunk that the next day rehearsal was practically impossible?”

Yuuri chuckled. “Never. She sometimes talked about you, but only for short bits and moments.”

“I think if she had had to kill herself I would find it hard to talk about her,” Viktor said.

It was strange. He would have thought that the prospect of seeing Sara again would elate him. It _had_ elated him.

Now it left him cold with fear.

He cleared his throat. “Anyways, it was for her name day and it was her first in Dresden. So me and Chris decided to take her and some other people out for a few beers in her favourite inn. She didn’t earn too much back then and couldn’t afford it so often.”

Yuuri made a face. “And to me she has always claimed to hate German beer. Liar.” But he smiled. “I’ll call her out on that.”

“Do so.”

They found a street vendor that sold spicy, grilled sausages and Yuuri bought a pair for their lunch.

It was simple, but filling and Viktor almost burned his tongue on the first bite. He quickly chewed it down.

Yuuri chuckled. “I bet she'll drop dead when she sees you.”

Viktor wasn't so sure. He still smiled. “I hope not. Miss Babitch would most certainly kill me and then you would have to avenge me, and I would have to see your hands sullied with blood.”

“Can't have that now, can we.” Yuuri sighed and smiled. “Then let’s hope she won’t drop dead.”

“I would very much appreciate that.”

 

They only headed out to meet Celestino Cialdini the next afternoon, after having aimlessly wandered the city again, and Viktor felt like he shouldn’t comment on it. Yuuri was nervous enough about it as it was, constantly running his hand over his jacket and fidgeting with the collar of his shirt.

Viktor reached out and quickly squeezed his hand before letting go of him again as they approached the house in which Celestino had his apartment.

Yuuri looked up the door and a soft smile appeared on his face.

“You liked it here,” Viktor observed.

“It was home for a very long time. I was fine when I was in here. I was safe.”

“Not many friends?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri shook his head. “More on the opposite.”

A wave of sympathy washed over Viktor. Yuuri most definitely had been in a very unique situation and maybe that had contributed to him being so lonely. Even in the village in his earliest years, even in the country masion, even with everything else that had gone on, he had not been alone, he had had peers, even some friends, although at some point he had mostly hung around Yakov and Yuri.

“I am sorry.”

Yuuri shrugged. “It’s alright. Most of them I didn’t want to be friends with anyways.” He smiled up at him. “And it’s not like it matters anymore . I think I got the hang of this making-friends-thing by now. And we got Mila and Sara here and we’ve got each other. That’s a good start.”

Viktor would have loved to pull Yuuri in a tight hug, but he forced himself to restrain.

At least until they had entered the house and were alone with each other on the dimly lit stairway. Only then he grabbed him and pulled him close.

Yuuri lifted his arms around him. “It’s alright.”

Viktor took a deep breath. “What if...”

What if Celestino did not approve of him, what if he voiced strong disdain, maybe even chased him out? What if this coloured Yuuri’s ideas about the future after all?

“I’d be pretty sad, but I’d have to deal with it,” Yuuri whispered and let go of him. “For now I hope this goes well.” He pressed two fingers against his lips and then against Viktor’s cheek. “Let’s go?”

Viktor nodded.

They climbed the stairway up to the fourth story and then they stood there in front of the dark, wooden door.

Yuuri took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”

He raised his hand and knocked.

For a moment, nothing happened.

They listened. Then they heard steps rushing towards the door, heavy thunder, then the clap of the door being ripped open, a gust of wind-

“Yuuri!”

The large man that had opened the door spread his arms and pulled Yuuri into a hug that looked bone-crushing from Viktor’s perspective. He was so large, his arms so big that Yuuri almost disappeared in his embrace.

Celestino Cialdini looked not at all how Viktor had expected him to. Granted, Viktor wasn’t quite sure what he had expected the man who had raised his love to look like.

He most definitely was a lot broader in the shoulders than Richard Wagner with a broad, strong face and a prominent chin with a significant cleft in it. In that he looked more like Yakov, but unlike Yakov this man actually managed to scare him. He looked like he could easily break his back.

“My boy, it’s been too long!”

Yuuri laughed and buried his face against his shoulders. “It was and- God, it’s good to be back!”

Celestino Cialdini held Yuuri tightly, but gently, grinning all over his large face and the iron grip around Viktor’s heart eased a little.

If he loved Yuuri so much, there was no way he would disapprove of Viktor, right? At least he would not kill him.

Right?

When Yuuri emerged from the embrace he was grinning all over his face. “It’s really been too long.”

“It has,” Cialdini agreed and took a long look at him. “You look good,” he finally said. “Managed to keep yourself from starving and overworking yourself to death, I see.”

Yuuri looked down on himself as well. “Doesn’t look like it, no.”

“And that lovely young lady you’ve been writing about?” Cialdini continued and then he nodded to Viktor. “Hello to you.”

“Uh.” Yuuri pulled away a little. “Well…”

Viktor offered his hand. “Viktor Nikiforov, it is a pleasure! Please, can we come in?”

Cialdini blinked at him.

Viktor made a step towards him, already gently placing a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder.

Again Celestino blinked at him, but he seemed to be too surprised to do anything else but step aside and offer them entrance.

Viktor walked over the doorstep and next to him he heard Yuuri sighing softly.

Too much, he wondered?

Yuuri did look a little uncomfortable, but Viktor had always preferred the direct, unmasked approach.

An at the very least they had a starting point.

“Nikiforov?” Cialdini asked, “I thought he was dead.”

“Long story,” he quipped, “really long.”

Yuuri sighed again and took his arm to lead him into what looked like the drawing room where he sat him down on a nice, very new chaise lounge.

Cialdini sat down in an armchair that looked significantly older than the chaise lounge.

He stared at Viktor and for a few moments Viktor found refuge in taking stock of the paintings of pretty young ladies and hunting scenes on the wall.

For a while they remained like this, Cialdini staring at Viktor, Viktor at the paintings and Yuuri looking between them with palpable discomfort.

It was broken only when a maid traipsed in, carrying on a tray a crystal carafe and a set of three matching glasses.

With deft hands she poured them all a drink and then quickly left.

Yuuri gave no sign of recognition to her. Instead he reached for his glass with the ease of someone at their home and sniffed. His face brightened. “D’Abruzzo!”

Cialdini smiled indulgently. “Don’t drink too quickly,” he warned, “You know.”

Yuuri sighed. “I’ve been gone for over a year, living in a country where people wouldn’t recognize good wine if they were pissing it, have a knack for decent champagne and are adept at making terrible beer. I have any right to be happy about good wine.” He took a sip.

Viktor took a sip.

Cialdini took a sip.

And another.

And another.

“So,” he finally said, “Yuuri. Again. Your lady friend.”

Yuui took a sip.

“Does she exist?”

Yuuri swallowed his mouthful of wine. “Well… yes and no,” he finally said. “The person in question is sitting right next to me.” Now he reached out to hold Viktor’s hand.

Viktor gave it a gentle squeeze.

Cialdini looked at them and took a sip.

And another one.

Then he poured himself a new glass. “Well,” he sighed at last, " I cannot say I am surprised.”

Yuuri blinked. “What?”

"Would have hoped for things to go differently, though, to be honest.”

The grip around Viktor’s fingers tightened. He could feel the sweat on Yuuri’s palm.

Cialdini emptied half his glass in one swig. “Well. At the very least you had friends of your sort in Dresden, I suppose. And here, too.”

Yuuri blinked.

Cialdini downed the other half of his wine. “These two young ladies you set up to come here. The Crispino and the Babitch. I’m happy to have them. Wasn’t sure about the redhead, but you were right, fine singer and they drive each other very well. Hardly any trouble. And they’re many things, these two. Subtle is not one of them.”

Of course. What else. Viktor knew Sara and he occasionally had seen her and Mila Babitch together. The only way they could have been more obvious would have been to throw a big, public wedding reception.

Next to him Yuuri breathed out. “Sorry.”

Cialdini looked at him.

“I know you’ve hoped for something different for me,” Yuuri continued, “but it is as it is.” His hand in Viktor’s had started to tremble and he ran a thumb over the side of it. “But you wanted to meet the person I’m living with. Or am planning to. Well, here he is.” He breathed out again. “And he’ll stay here.” He paused. “Well, here in a sense of _with me_ , not here on your couch.”

Cialdini again poured himself a glass. “As I said.” He took a sip. “It’s not exactly a surprise. But yes, I would have liked and wished for your life to not be even more complicated than it already is.”

Yuuri chuckled dryly. “There was never much hope for that to begin with, I think.”

“No, not really.”

Yuuri emptied his glass now as well and poured himself another one and then shot an inquiring look at Viktor.

He nodded, held out his glass and Yuuri poured out for him as well.

“You could just get yourself a nice girl that has no problem with…” Cialdini gestured vaguely, “this.”

Yuuri took a sip. “Maybe, but that would have made that poor girl only supremely unhappy. Me as well.”

His voice was very different from the hand that held Viktor’s. His voice was entirely calm, while his hand was almost violently shaking.

Viktor focused on that when Cialdini now finally took a close look at him.

“Well. Viktor Nikiforov, you said.”

“Exactly.” Viktor cleared his throat. “The one and only.”

Yuuri smiled at this.

“Word has it that you are dead. You look quite well for a dead man.”

“Well, thank you,” Viktor replied, scrambling his brain for a witty reply, “Nobody ever looks good when they are presumed dead.”

Cialdini didn’t seem impressed. “Of course that now begs the question why you were proclaimed dead in the first place.”

“Because I had to stage my own suicide.” Viktor managed a lopsided smile. “It was quite impressive. If I ever tire of performing I think I will make a fine director.”

Again, Cialdini didn’t seem impressed. “And why would you stage your suicide?”

Viktor decided that at least right now his wit was wasted on him and that it was probably best to be plain in his answers. “Richard Wagner.”

That earned him a nod. “I see,” Cialdini said.

Yuuri shifted a little.

“So.” Cialdini put down his glass. “I take it you are not only here because it’s good manners to say hello to your guardian and introduce new companions when you are back in town?”

Yuuri shifted even more.

“I take you are also here to ask for work.”

“Yes,” they both answered at once.

They looked at each other and then Yuuri smiled.

Viktor chuckled and then breathed. “Well. You know Yuuri’s singing for yourself and he developed tremendously. When I took him on, he had great potential. A lot of promise for growth, and during the last year he fulfilled this promise, both in his singing and his acting. I am very happy with my protege, I am sure you will be too.”

Again, Cialdini’s gaze wandered back and forth between them.

Viktor quite literally could see his head churn and turn as he worked through this information.

Then he turned his gaze to Yuuri, almost accusingly. “You never told me you found yourself a tutor!”

Yuuri squirmed. “Well, I… well, you would have insisted to pay him - you would have, don’t you dare claim anything else!”

For a moment Cialdini seemed to have forgotten how to blink just to then hastily remember and commit to the act with vigor.

“And then I would have had to explain all this per letter and… some things should be discussed in person instead.”

Cialdin’s face twitched in surprise.

Yuuri’s face twitched in a nervous smile.

Cialdini again took a closer look at them.

Then he took a deep breath. “On the day after tomorrow I have some time. An hour, two at most. If you want to try out, drop by at two.” He rubbed his temple. “I need to assess you for myself, Yuuri. Your letters sounded promising, the two doves you sent here sing your praise when they don’t sing each other’s, then the word of your…” He vaguely gestured to Viktor. “Worth a look.”

The corners of Yuuri’s mouth twitched. “Yes, worth a look.”

“And you.” Cialdini looked at Viktor. “You call yourself Viktor Nikiforov. That is quite a name and I need to see if you live up to it.”

“Sure,” Viktor said, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. In fact, he actually was a little disappointed. He had been prepared for the challenge. He had assumed that he would have to prove himself. But Yuuri? Cialdini knew Yuuri, he knew his potential, hearing how much he had developed should be enough. Right?

“Good. Think about what you want to sing,” Cialdini said. “Yuuri knows our repertoire quite well.”

Yuuri nodded. “We’ll look through it, yes.”

That was the last word about the matter then, Viktor supposed. No point arguing any more. He nodded.

Cialdini now leaned forward and reached out, taking Yuuri’s free hand between his own. “It is good you are back, my boy,” he said. “I missed you.”

Yuuri’s mouth twitched and Viktor saw him swallow.

Then he said, “Me too. I missed you, too.”

Viktor almost felt superfluous.

“What have you agreed upon regarding payment?” Cialdini then asked. He looked at Viktor.

Once again Yuuri squirmed.

Viktor cleared his throat. “We never really talked about that. Due to my unconventional circumstances it was never a serious matter. And it was never important to me.”

“Nonsense!” Cialdini exclaimed.

“Not in the least!”

Cialdini breathed out and for a moment he looked very much like an annoyed peacock, feathers all ruffled. Surprisingly enough he reminded Viktor very much of Yakov.

“Yuuri,” he asked, smiling as he gently squeezed his hand. “What do you think? Were your lessons with me of any use to you?”

“Are you?!” Yuuri blinked. “Hell, yes!”

Once again Cialdini stared at them and once again Viktor could see his brain work hard. He stared at Yuuri. Occasionally he opened and closed his mouth slightly, as if to say something.

Not for the first time Viktor wondered what kind of man Yuuri had been before they had met. He had an inkling, of course, and if he was completely honest he didn’t want to know any details, but the thought was still there.

“Anyways,” Cialdini now again looked at Viktor. “Depending on Yuuri’s performance I will talk to you about your reimbursement.”

Next to him Yuuri sighed.

Viktor finally found his wit again. “There is no need for that,” he declared. “I have been paid already and aplenty in kisses and love.”

Cialdini stared at him.

Againn Yuuri sighed, this time mixed with a groan. “Viktor!”

“Kisses and love are all fine and dandy,” Cialdini said at last, “but they are in no way a valid currency.”

“I beg to differ,” Viktor declared.

“Do so until the moment you try to pay a baker’s wife for a loaf of bread in that fashion with her husband watching on.”

They stared at each other for a few more moments, before Cialdini downed his glass and Viktor did the same.

Yuuri followed suit, not without rubbing his temples.

Cialdini now got up. “Well then. See you in two days. You better be good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! It's been a little while in which I've been quite busy. The first half of "Sing for me", entitled "A song for ghosts" for now has been handed over to a beta reader and should be done soon. Am I looking forward to having it back and working through all the notes she made.  
> Also I started editing part two (how does "An ode to life" sound for a title?)  
> I started a new novel project I plan on writing during NaNo, about a novelist who is so fed-up with her fantasy series that this world begins to fall apart. Her main character hates her. In the end, fanfic saves the day.  
> I've been writing this.  
> And since yesterday I've been kicking around yet another idea for a bonus story, but more about that later.   
> For now - have fun.

The last time he had been so nervous he had just had arrived in Dresden holding onto Yakov’s hand, shivering from a long, exhausting trip and under the impression that they would have to go back to Russia if he didn’t perform well in his try-out for the Royal Court theatre.

“I am sure Mr. Feltsman never said anything of the sort,” Yuuri remarked when Viktor told him that story while they headed down the street to the theatre.

The afternoon sun was blazing down without mercy and Viktor wished they would have had the chance to pack some lighter summer suits. Once the matter of their employment was dealt with, they needed to pay a visit to a good tailor.

“No, he did not,” he said now. “But the thought was always there. And I needed it, to be honest.” He found Yuuri's wide-eyed gaze. “ I got very nervous very easily as a boy.”

Yuuri laughed. “I find this very hard to believe.”

“But believe it you can,” Viktor sighed while his stomach churned. “Harsh words and a strict hand helped me best to re-focus. So Yakov was strict with me.”

Yuuri chuckled at him. “I can try being harsh with you. Can’t promise any success, though.”

As they turned around a corner Viktor reached out and gave Yuuri’s hand a quick squeeze. “Just tell me you believe we will do alright.”

“Can’t,” Yuuri said, “And I don’t. I don’t believe we’ll be doing alright.” Yuuri squeezed his hand. “I know it.”

Viktor’s heart melted in his chest at his words. He so desperately wanted to pull him close and shower him with kisses, hold him, thank him.

As it was, at least he could pull him just a little closer until they reached the front door of the theatre and he had to let go of him so Yuuri could lead the way.

Yuuri led them around the building to a side entrance and inside.

It was astonishingly familiar despite Viktor never having been here before. The warm, dusty-golden semi-darkness was very reminiscent of the Royal Court Theatre in Dresden, narrow, high corridors like the ones he had spent years lurking in. Even now the instinct to hide away tugged at his mind.

Yuuri seemed to notice for he took his arm. “Over here.” He led him around a corner and then he saw the stairs, the crates, cranes and pulleys that marked the immediate backstage area.

Viktor swallowed. They hadn’t announced themselves. There had been no previous talk to Cialdini. But Yuuri led him along confidently that he couldn’t help but follow him along.

A few stagehands looked at them.

And a few eyes that looked like they belonged to singers wandered after them.

“They know we are here to try out, right?” he asked.

“Celestino knows,” Yuuri said and shrugged. “That’s enough.”

Usually Viktor would have loved to admire Yuuri’s confidence. Right now he couldn’t. Too nervous. Too much like the boy he once had been.

“Is it common here as well that established singers are attending try-outs for new soloists?” he asked.

“It is,” Yuuri mumbled. “Hope the Saratoni isn’t around anymore. Never liked her. She never liked me. Never liked anyone, but…”

Viktor clung to this. “Is it her diva attitude? Or is she more along the Yura line of never liking anyone?”

“Worse,” Yuuri replied.

There was anything worse?

“She was a diva. Or is. Depends on where your focus is on and whether you work with her at the time. Point is, she is a diva with Yura’s natural charm and sweet temper.”

“Oh,” was all Viktor managed to get out.

“Exactly,” Yuuri sighed. “I can imagine she might have had quite a few rows with Mila, just for daring to not like Sara.”

Viktor chuckled nervously. “Well, we both know what to think of people who dislike Sara.” He swallowed as he saw Cialdini approaching.

“Ah, there you are already,” he said. “Good.”

“Hello.” Yuuri smiled. “Here we are. Where will you try us out?”

Cialdini looked at them and then, with a bright smile, said, “I thought the stage would be a good place. Since we are already here.”

“Oh.” Yuuri blanched a little. “Oh, that’s…” He cleared his throat. “That’s unusual,” he finally said, “Aren’t you usually using one of the practise rooms for that?”

“Yes, I do.”

Now Yuuri made a face. “And why aren’t you doing that now?”

“Because you always were afraid of even an empty stage,” Cialdini said. “And I will not hire a soloist who can’t sing on a stage with all eyes on him.”

Yuuri sighed deeply. “You’ve read my letters. You know my roles.”

“I did.” Cialdini nodded and then patted Yuuri’s shoulder. “So, I conclude that the stage will not be a problem.”

“Urgh.”

“Come now, you are several years too late to act a moody wilful adolescent now.”

“Better late than never,” Yuuri mumbled.

Cialdini chuckled. “Come now, yes? We don’t have all day.”

They followed him through the corridor that led to the stage.

When Viktor glanced over to Yuuri he found him tense, nervous, but collected and grumbling under his breath.

He squeezed his hand and the gesture was reciprocated.

They would do fine.

They would be alright.

They would get their engagement here, they-

“-think we need rice again.”

All of a sudden Viktor’s lungs were empty at Sara’s voice and it was very troublesome to fill them again.

“Carrots too,” Mila Babich sighed, “can’t make- oh, look who’s there!”

“Oh.” Sara again. “Oh, Yuuri! Hello there!”

Yuuri turned around to them. “Sara, Mila! I see you managed to not tear down the Scala, thank you, thank you so much!” His grip around Viktor’s hand tightened a little. “So. Well.”

Cialdini looked at them impatiently. Nowhere to go for him.

Yuuri squeezed and gently tugged at his hand.

He swallowed and then turned around. “Hello, Sara.”

Sara stared at him with a curiously blank expression on her face.

“Sweetie,” Mila Babitch softly asked, “What’s the matter?”

No, Viktor noted absentmindedly, subtle was really not on the list adjectives applicable to them.

Sara opened her mouth as if to answer, but instead of words she only gave a strangled wheeze. Then she sank down.

Mila Babitch gasped and caught her in her arms. “What…” She looked around and her pale eyes fixated on Viktor. “What have you done?!” Without even waiting for him to answer she already laid Sara down and opened the front of her dress with deft fingers. Then she loosened her corset, reached into her own pockets for some smelling salt and then held it under her nose.

It took a moment before Sara started to move again.

“Dear me,” Mila Babitch sighed, “You gave me quite a scare there.”

“Oh dear.” Sara breathed in and out. Her voice was thin, but stable and Viktor breathed out a sigh of relief. “I am so sorry.”

“Are you alright?” Mila asked, “If you don’t feel well we should skip today’s rehearsal and get you some rest.”

Sara breathed in and then out again. Viktor heard her grumble.

“Spell of the dizzies,” she declared, “no way I stay away over that.” Then she looked around and her gaze locked in on Viktor for a moment before turning to Yuuri. “Well,” she declared, “that’s a surprise.”

Yuuri nodded. “I suppose it is.”

Cialdini was looking along between them. “So. You are acquainted,” he said.

“I am acquainted with Viktor Nikiforov,” Sara said, getting to her feet.

Viktor’s heart grew lighter.

“I am not so sure about this spectre.”

Viktor’s heart sank again.

Sara breathed in. “Well then. There are new singers hoping for a solo spot here. Two of them even, I heard. Let’s see what they got.” With Mila’s help she pulled herself back on her feet and headed over to a small group of other singers.

Mila went with her, but over her shoulder she shot a curious glance.

Viktor sighed.

“Well,” Cialdini said, “I suppose it is best for Nikiforov to start.”

Yuuri breathed out in relief.

Viktor couldn’t begrudge him, but his own heart had started to race again. “Well. Alright.”

“Good. You have ten minutes to warm up. I will be in the audience hall.” He turned and left now. A few singers followed him, but Viktor noticed that Sara and Mila stayed back.

Oh dear.

He took a deep breath and flexed his hands. “Yuuri,“ he then said, “my palms are sweaty. Is this stage fright?”

Yuuri looked up to him. “Not until you forget your lines.”

“Oh,” Viktor mumbled.

Yuuri took his hand and squeezed it. “Before then it’s just a case of being nervous. Welcome to the world of us normal people.”

Briefly Viktor wondered if the day would ever come when Yuuri realized that he was anything but normal.

“Sing yourself warm,” Yuuri said, “you're up in a moment. Can't have you going out and leave a bad impression now, can we.”

Viktor shook his head. “Dear God, no! Never, I could never cast a bad light on my best student!”

“I’m your only student, dear,” Yuuri sighed, but he smiled the same, sweet, slight smile he usually kept closely tucked towards the corners of his mouth and Viktor couldn’t help but nod.

“You are. All the more reason to not embarrass you.” Viktor took a deep breath and started to sing scales up and down.

He continued until Yuuri gently touched his arm. “You’re up. Off with you.”

His smile was the reason Viktor’s heart didn’t flutter just from nerves as he walked out.

His stomach, however, did.

The audience hall was brightly lit and almost empty, a few lone chairs aside in which he spotted Cialdini, a few of the singers he had seen backstage and men in suits and top hats that looked important enough that Viktor assumed they had a say in the way the theatre was run. Also, next to Cialdini sat a delicate, petite woman with a sharp, attentive face and a long, elegantly arched neck. Dancer, Viktor guessed, and by her age and seat probably an instructor rather than an active dancer.

He swallowed. “Good day. My name is Viktor Nikiforov, I am trained and singing baritone.”

Cialdini nodded. “Your age?”

“Twenty and eight.”

“Where are you from?”

“Dresden, obviously, where I sang on stage before I entered my unusual interim retirement.”

Cialdini raised his eyebrows. “Where were you educated?”

“Mainly in Russia on a country estate which name nobody located more Western than Nishny Novgorod can pronounce without breaking into cold sweat,” Viktor answered. It garnered him a few chuckles. “In later years I also received my education in Dresden where I lived from the age of ten years on.” Oh god, he prayed his Italian wasn’t too messy. “My main tutor was Yakov Feltsman. He was for a time head director of the Royal Court theatre and otherwise director for the chorus.”

Cialdini nodded and motioned for him to continue.

Viktor swallowed. “I will be singing from Rossini’s Il barbiere di Siviglia.”

He and Yuuri had pored over his role and finally decided on Figaro. Rossini didn’t offer too many baritone roles and Figaro was one of the few that was not a bass baritone but more lyrical, easier for Viktor to sing and more fun too. “The cavatina.”

Cialdini nodded. “Will you need a piano to accompany you?”

Viktor shook his head. “No, I am fine on my own.” Was he though?

Too late.

Cialdini waved for him to to begin and so he did, starting with an expressive, exuberant line of “La-la” that led into the aria of Figaro praising himself and his skill as a barber.

“Largo al factotum della città. Presto a bottega, ché l'alba è già. Ah, che bel vivere, che bel piacere per un barbiere di qualità!”

Too weak, too soft. He noticed how Cialdini furrowed his brow. Not good. He needed to focus, to concentrate, to be better.

“Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo; fortunatissimo per verità! Pronto a far tutto, la notte e il giorno sempre d'intorno, in giro sta. Miglior cuccagna per un barbiere, vita più nobile, no, non si dà.”

Still not good.

He finished on “Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo; a te fortuna non mancherà”, followed by a sigh.

This had not gone like he had hoped. Too little feeling, not enough pride and joy. Too much pressure, sometimes a shiver in his voice. He had been too focussed on hitting the notes to put any attention to keeping his voice steady. And of course he had had put no energy at all into even attempting to act.

“Well,” Cialdini said.

Viktor took a deep breath. Well was not a good start.

“Well,” Cialdini repeated, “when was the last time you were on a stage?”

Viktor bit back a laugh. “It has been a while.”

“I could tell. And hear,” Cialdini said.

Ouch.

“Well,” Cialdini said. Well seemed to be a favourite word of his. “Why are you here then?”

Was that not clear, Viktor wanted to ask. He was here with Yuuri and he was here to get work alongside him, but - no, no, that wouldn’t do.

“Because…” He took another breath and looked towards Yuuri from the corner of his eye. “because usually I am very good.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow and Viktor could actually see him wonder whether he was ill.

And that was right. Viktor was not used to being so humble. Yuuri was not used to Viktor being so humble.

“As a dear friend of me would put it, I am not just really good, I am shit good,” he declared. Now his voice was firm. Well, better late than never. “Word of my supposed death had travelled down here. I suppose that says a lot about the name I made for myself.”

Cialdini raised an eyebrow in very much the same fashion as Yuuri had done just now. He exchanged a few glances with the men in the top hats.

At least now Viktor knew why Yuuri never had had any trouble adjusting to Yakov’s rule unlike some other new singers. He had been used to someone like him.

And Viktor, too, knew how to deal with that type.

“I know I am quite rusty, which is hardly surprising given my long absence from stage work,” he said. “Thankfully I never completely stopped working, so I am positive I can get back on track easily.”

Cialdini’s face remained neutral. “What did you do then?” he asked. “The work of a dead man must be quite interesting.”

Viktor’s stomach fluttered again and he took another deep breath. “I have been giving lessons. You will hear the results for yourself in a moment.”

“How many years have you been inactive?” Cialdini asked, “When was your supposed death again?”

“Fourty-five,” Viktor replied.  Oh god, Eighteen-fourty-five.

“Four years,” Cialdini said. “One student in four years. Pray, tell me, were you actually dead for a while?”

“I am quite picky?” Viktor didn’t mean for this to sound like a question, but now it was too late. Damn.

“Being picky is a privilege you have to earn,” Cialdini said.

“I had not much choice also. I could hardly go around picking up students and revealing to them my continued state of living.” Viktor forced himself to stand up straighter. “Also, before and after I took on my student, I worked and ultimately finished my first opera and saw it performed.“

“Ah,” Cialdini said, not sounding impressed at all. “Well. That was quite light. How about something with more gravitas? Are you familiar with Mozart’s Don Giovanni?”

“Yes,” Viktor said after a moment’s pause, “of course, I… I could go with his aria? Finch'han dal vino?”

“I don’t know whether you could,” Cialdini remarked. “Could you?”

Viktor took a deep breath. “I couldn’t, I can,” he declared. Then hummed the first few notes and then started to sing those notes he had drilled into Yuuri’s head until they sometimes both had woken in cold sweat singing.

“Finch'han dal vino calda la testa una gran festa fa preparar,” he began describing the feast he had planned for a wedding party in order to seduce the bride, “Se trovi in piazza  qualche ragazza, teco ancor quella cerca menar.

Goddamnit, his voice.

“Ah! la mia lista doman mattina d'una decina devi aumentar!”

Finally. Finished.

Cialdini looked up to him. “Alright. Next!”

That was it? He was done already? But-

Cialdini waved impatiently for him to move and he turned and ushered himself into the wing, where Yuuri was waiting for him.

He gently touched his arm the moment Viktor was near him. “That went well,” he said.

“Your concept of going well is very interesting, my dear,” Viktor sighed.

“Why?” Yuuri gently ran his hand up on Viktor’s arm. “He asked you questions and he had you sing a second time. That is good.”

“I felt like I was facing the Spanish Inquisition, why is that?”

Yuuri chuckled. “You were nervous, that’s why.”

“Yes, and I messed up, I messed up and ruined it and…”

“You did no-”

“Next!”

Yuuri sighed and wandered off to the stage.

Viktor heard Cialdini call, “Ah, finally! I was wondering whether you disappeared! Name!”

Viktor saw how Yuuri’s shoulders heaved with a sigh, but he answered, “Katsuki, Yuuri.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty and four come next November.” [...nachrechnen?]

“Where are you from?” Cialdini asked.

“I’ve just arrived from Dresden, where I sang both in the chorus and as a soloist.”

“Where were you trained and educated?”

Again Viktor could see Yuuri’s shoulders in a sigh. “Really now?!”

“Where were you educated, answer the questions, there’s an order to these things to be observed.”

Viktor had the strong suspicion that he rolled his eyes but he couldn’t see it clearly. “I was raised, educated and trained in Milan at the Theatro alla Scala before I left for Dresden.”

Viktor saw Cialdini nod. “What will you be singing?”

Viktor knew the answer without ever having discussed it with Yuuri.

“Va, Pensiero,” Yuuri answered.

It was met with a chorus of “What else?” from both the audience seats and in whispers from the wings, close to Viktor.

He peered to the side. Sara and Mila stood not far away from him, looking on. Mila wiggled her head a little to the left and right.

Yuuri waited for the muttering to die down a little and then drew back his shoulders.

“I suppose you don’t need a piano?”

“No, thanks.” Another breath. “Va, pensiero, sull’ali dorate; va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli-”

A good, strong, solid start, emotional, with only the slightest, deliberate tremolo. Longing in his voice for a long-lost home, the feeling of displacement.

“Del Giordano le rive saluta, di Sionne le torri atterrate…” He was leaning more towards the baritone, warm and earthy and rich.

It would be such a delight to finally be able to sing with him on stage.

“O t’ispiri il Signore un concento che ne infonda al patire virtù.”

Hope, resolve and strength where there before had been resignation, a silver lining of someday finding his way back home.

And security in his performance, confidence even.

Viktor looked at Yuuri’s straight back and felt warmth bubbling up in him.

“Well,” Cialdini remarked from down below, “alright. You said you were singing solo roles. Can you give us a list?”

“Didn’t I give you updates regularly?” Yuuri asked back.

Viktor chuckled.

“Not as regularly as I would have hoped,” Cialdini remarked.

Viktor could see how Yuuri raised his hand and scratched the back of his head.

“Not to mention, that I don’t show your private letters to me to the management of the theatre.”

“He did show them to his singers, however.”

Viktor flinched and turned around. Sara was standing next to him not looking at him, her gaze fixated at the stage.

“So,” she finally said, softly as to not disturb Yuuri on stage while he was facing the questions Cialdini and the management fired at him, “you rose from the dead.”

“I suppose,” Viktor answered diplomatically.

Sara took a deep breath and then let it out again. She pressed her lips together to a thin line, then loosened it up again. “I was at your grave. The day after your funeral.”

Viktor nodded and, since Sara had the decency to keep her face neutral he did the same. “Yakov had told me that he had passed it off as an entirely private affair. With it being a suicide and already wrapped up in scandal it was only appropriate and I suppose it made it easier to keep the lie up also.”

“When they held your funeral I was on stage, singing,” Sara said in a flat, empty, small voice.

“I am sorry.” It was too little, too late, but it also was all Viktor could say.

“Yuri was shattered.”

Viktor’s throat tightened. “I know.” He had seen it, Yuri first shedding tears and then, all of a sudden swallowing them up, almost choking on them until he had hardened and tightened.

And then Viktor had shown himself again to him and he had looked at him - yes, just like Sara was looking at him now.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

“Why all this, this… this… this? You could have left without a fuss, went after Chris or, I don’t know…” She ran a hand over her face.

Viktor would have liked to touch her shoulder, but her whole body was shivering. One slight tap might provoke her into slapping him.

“Yuri, right?” she asked after a moment.

“Yes.”

“The things you do for family,” she sighed. “You were dead for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“What was your plan?”

Viktor paused for a moment. “I do not know,” he then admitted. “I honestly would have never thought I would ever get back out.”

“Not even after Wagner had left Dresden?” Sara asked.

“Well, he was not gone for long.”

Sara huffed.

Viktor smiled. “No. I was… down there…”

He had been safe. It was what he had known. Leaving had been too scary a prospect for so long and it still had been something he had longed for.

“And why now?” Sara went on, “what changed?”

“Me, I suppose.” Viktor looked to the stage. “In part thanks to yet another Yuuri.”

Sara flinched back from him as if he had hit her. She swallowed. “Amazing,” she finally choked out. “So for you to get out of whatever you’ve been in all that’s necessary is a nice ass attached to a pretty face and a good voice, but you still can’t get around to let me-” She broke off again and for a moment she seemed to have trouble breathing.

“Sara,” Viktor managed to get out, “I am sorry.”

She furled around, eyes blazing. “Sorry, you say, sorry!”

His throat tightened. “Yes.”

“You think that’s going to fix it?!”

Oh god, no.

“No.”

“Good. Cause it doesn’t.”

“I know,” he whispered, voice thin and heavy.

“Did you tell Yuri?”

“After maybe a month,” Viktor admitted. “He… well, he did not take it well.”

“I can imagine.”

“You have seen him back then,” Viktor sighed, chest heavy with memory.

“Yes.” Sara sighed. “Looking back, it makes quite a lot of sense.”

Yuri had been shocked and then shock had given way to anger, hot, silent, seething anger that had lasted for weeks.

He could understand now. He had understood then, too, but that hadn’t lessened the hurt at Yuri’s anger. The hurt had grown worse as Yuri had followed Richard Wagner’s lead more and more in the weeks and months afterwards.

“You told him,” Sara stated, voice flat again. “Why did you never tell me?”

Viktor had to take a moment to find the words and even then he knew them to be insufficient. “The less people knew, the-”

“Bullshit!”

He flinched.

“You told Yuri. You showed yourself to Yuuri. A total stranger. Why did you tell them but not me?!”

“I…” At least for that Viktor had the words. “I thought I would save you pain.”

“You thought you’d save me pain!” Sara’s voice now gained a shrill quality he had never heard with her before.

And on stage Yuuri apparently was done. He took a small bow and then turned around.

“You know what would have saved me pain?!“ Sara hissed, “Not hearing that my friend had hanged himself and thinking that if he had just talked to me just once, I maybe could have done something, helped him, could have…” She put her hands over her mouth and turned around, but not before Viktor could see the tears well up in her eyes.

And then she stomped off, hand over her face and when she met Yuuri along the way she stopped and stared and then, unexpectedly, raised a hand to slap his face before storming off for good.

Yuuri didn’t follow her or argue. Instead he rubbed his red cheek. “I-,” he mumbled, “I suppose I deserve that?”

“I do not know,” Viktor sighed. “I got yelled at, but all things considered I would deserve a slap myself, rather than you.”

“She is angry,” Yuuri mumbled.

“She is,“ Viktor confirmed.

They watched as Mila hurried after her, looking over her shoulder back to them, but otherwise remaining silent.

Yuuri’s gaze wandered back and forth between them.

“How did it go?” Viktor asked.

“Good, I think,” Yuuri mumbled. He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, I didn’t black out. I didn’t panic. My singing could have been better, I messed up the mid section a bit.”

“Do you think we made it?”

Yuuri shrugged. “I think so.”

“And what if not?” Viktor continued to ask, despite himself. They had been fine, they did it, there was no way and even if not-

“There are other theatres,” Yuuri said with another shrug.

Viktor managed a smile. “So confident.”

“Amazing what a really good tutor can do.”

Viktor laughed nervously. “We will see what I was worth.”

They heard steps and as they looked up.

Cialdini and the rest of their little audience approached them. From up closer the men in top hats seemed eve more important - or at least like they believing they were - than before.

“Do you know them?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri shook his head. “Management, I suppose. Never had much to to with them and they can change pretty often.”

They discussed in low voices for a while and then nodded.

Hands were shaken.

“That looks good?” Viktor muttered.

“I suppose.”

Cialdini turned around and came up to them. “So.” He looked up and down at them. “Where are you two living right now?”

“Donna Catanei’s,” Yuuri replied.

Cialdini furrowed his brow. “Not a good spot,” he said. “Not the house itself, mind you. No word against her. But the quarter’s not.”

“It looked alright to me when we got here,” Yuuri shrugged. “The food’s edible and she’s affordable and we didn’t know how long it would take for us to get work here, so…”

Cialdini sighed.

“And I’ve had my fair share of boarding house life now, honestly.”

Viktor did not remark on the fact that in the last few months Yuuri had lived more under the theatre with him than anywhere else.

Again Cialdini sighed and then ran a hand through his hair.

“You know,” he finally said, “your room us still free. Might be a little cramped with two beds.“

What?

Viktor shot a glance at Yuuri.

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “Beg your pardon?”

“It’s better than the Catanei’s place,” Cialdini declared. “And cheaper, too. I get to keep an eye on you, too. Don’t you dare make too much noise at night.”

Viktor didn’t even dare asking. Instead he turned to Yuuri. “I suppose,” he asked in slow, slightly laboured German, “I am on watch by my father-in-law then?”

Yuuri chuckled. “I suppose you could call it that.”

“I still understand German, you know,” Cialdini remarked. “Maybe pick another language to talk about me in my presence. One I didn’t try to drill into your head.”

“Russian then,” Yuuri decided. “I wanted to practise it anyways.”

There was a long, decidedly awkward pause between the three of them and once again Viktor could see how Cialdini’s head was working overtime to make sense of what he was witnessing.

“We live only two streets from here,” he finally went on. “You can use the opportunity to look for a proper place in the area you can afford with your wages. Until then -,” he cleared his throat, “yes. You are under supervision.”

Viktor sighed silently. Well then. At least it meant they had secured their employment.

“I hope I won’t see anything I will not like,” Cialdini went on. “I do know how to handle both a gun and a knife.”

Next to Viktor Yuuri sighed. “You don’t. You don’t even know how to cut bread.”

Cialdini laughed dryly. “I suppose that should give you all the more reason to worry.”

It actually did.

  


And it turned out that he didn’t. Cialdini watched them carefully, but since they obeyed the house rules and were quiet at night he found no reason to practise his bread-cutting on Viktor.

Sara, however, probably wished for an opportunity to do so. It was hard to tell, but Viktor guessed so by her sharp looks towards him - and occasionally Yuuri - and her cool, polite demeanor they had only ever seen her display towards Wagner.

Her lover, on the other hand, turned out to be even chattier than Viktor had witnessed her to be from afar.

Mila Babitch delighted in having Yuuri back around her and was equally happy to get to know Viktor better whenever Sara wasn’t around.

So whenever they invited both of them to have dinner with them in one of their favourite tavernas Sara on principle stayed away and Mila declined the invitation just as often as she accepted.

Tonight she had accepted and delighted in downing her second cup of wine on their coin. Viktor could see how Yuuri was already regretting the invitation just a little.

“So,” she said as she filled her cup for the third time “so you and Sara knew each other from before and you are her friend who killed himself.”

Oh dear. Viktor sighed. “Yes.”

Mila raised a wine-red eyebrow and took a spoonful of her stew. “And you are surprised she is angry?”

Viktor sighed. “No, of course not. Nor really.”

Mila smiled and leaned back in her chair, satisfied. “And you, Yuuri!” she declared, pointing her spoon at him. “You! What were you expecting!”

Yuuri sighed. “Dunno, I mean…” He reached for his own cup. “I mean, it’s kind of hard to expect anything for sure with this.”

Mila rolled her eyes “Ugh, men.”

Yes. Viktor sighed. “I know.”

“Are you at least sorry?” Mila asked.

“Of course.” Viktor ran a hand through his hair and then took a bite of his chicken. Nice. Tender. He like the rosemary. At least when he focussed on tasting it. “If I could, I - I am not sure whether I would talk to her. I had my reasons not to. I think they are very good reasons. But I would think a lot more about it than I already did back then. And let her know in a different way and I am not sure whether I would not hurt her even more with that and…” Oh, what a mess.

He felt Mila’s gaze upon him and the breath she released rustled through his bones. “I’ll try to talk to her. I’m not making any promises, just…”

“I know.” He breathed in and out. “It was bad,” he then said, “shit bad, as my brother would put it. I know that. But I do not know how to make it right.”

“Well,” Mila said, “just saying sorry will not cut it, I’m sure you’re aware.”

“I am,” Viktor sighed. “I am not sure meaning it would change anything either.”

They didn’t sit well into the night that evening. The day had been long and tomorrow would be even longer.

Mila gave them a good, firm handshake and then they turned and left, wrapped in a little cloud of silence.

Only when they reached the stairway that led up to Cialdini’s lodgings - their lodgings too, still, after a few weeks - Yuuri took his hand and when they reached the door he had wrapped his arm around Viktor’s hip.

They made their way to their shared bedroom before they kissed and Yuuri gently started to massage his neck. “You’re tense.”

“It has been a long day,” Viktor sighed. “We have worked hard. And it is late. And tomorrow there are visits to make regarding a place for us.”

Yuuri sighed. “I can’t wait when these visits finally pay off and we have our own home to close the door to.”

“Me too,” Viktor sighed.

They settled comfortably on Yuuri‘s bed - not large enough for both of them to sleep on, but for comfort and company it was just right.

For a while they cuddled and kissed until Viktor’s breath caught in his throat.

But when Yuuri leaned in even closer, ran his hand over Viktor’s side, Viktor gently pushed him away while catching his hand.

“Not in the mood?” Yuuri asked

“A little, probably,” Viktor admitted. “But also-” He breathed out, looking for words.

“Sara?”

“Also. I am,” he sighed. “I want her to not be angry at me anymore, but I also want her to be healing and I cut open a wound.”

“She needs time, I think,” Yuuri mumbled. “Give it to her.”

They kissed again and Viktor felt himself warming up, but-

“Really not in the mood,” Yuuri sighed against his lips.

“Your father,” Viktor said while everything in him ached to touch Yuuri, undress him, bury himself in the crook of his neck and have Yuuri buried against his body.

“Celestino’s not at home,” Yuuri whispered.

“He could come back and he could hear us.”

Yuuri sighed. For a moment he was silent and still, but then he shifted and moved around until he had Viktor’s back to his stomach.

Viktor felt a kiss pressed into his neck.

Then Yuuri breathed out against his skin. “God, I can’t wait for our own place.”

  


They still had to wait for two more months, but finally, in November, they had managed to find a small house to rent, two stories, three and a half rooms each, hallways counted, no attic, only a walled hole for a cellar, but it was cheap, it came already furnished with most of the basic neccessities and it would be theirs for the foreseeable future.

Cialdini had seen it the day they had gotten the keys, looked at the low ceilings and small windows, the functioning fireplace and the not so functioning kitchen range, shrugged and said, “Oh well. Will do for now,” and Yuuri had nodded and taken Viktor’s hand, while Viktor himself had grinned like the lovestruck, happy fool that he was.

They had taken the keys, had moved in with their few possessions and then spent two days in blissful peace before guests were invited.

It was only polite to hold a housewarming party for the coworkers that had taken to them - which were by no means everyone, but Mila aside a few other soloists had become friendly with them and some of the chorus singers were surprised and even delighted to see Yuuri back and in better shape than he had left.

“Wow,” one man had remarked whom Yuuri had introduced as Giuseppe Scimia, “wouldn’t have thought you make it when you left. And now you’re back and singing solos.”

Yuuri had shrugged and raised an eyebrow. “It helped that people had yet to learn the pile of messes I was. Gave me time to reduce the pile.”

Giuseppe Scimia was friendly to them, but still didn’t get an invitation, since, as Yuuri remarked, he hadn’t had the good graces to at least ignore him back then and so far he hadn’t apologized for making Yuuri’s life even harder.

All things considered their guest list was short. Five people. And of course Cialdini. And Mila and Sara and Viktor was not sure whether they would even show up.

So it was only a small gathering. They had provided plenty of wine and some bites to eat, mostly small, bite-sized pies and sweets, nothing big or fancy, just an attempt to be friendly.

It mostly worked.

They showed their guests around, poured wine, Cialdini regaled them with stories from Yuuri’s childhood, not all of them featuring Yuuri, but all quite entertaining.

“Are you always talking shit about lead soloists of the past?” Viktor asked at some point, after maybe his third cup of wine. “Do I have to worry?”

Cialdini barked out a laugh, that again reminded Viktor very much of Yakov. “Only if you turn out to be a prissy prima donna and then I gonna talk shit about you long before you’re part of the history of the Scala.”

Viktor shot him a sharp smile. “I will look very much forward towards the stories you will tell about me.”

“Me too.”

On the other side of the room Yuuri was talking to a man and a woman, all holding cups with wine in their hands.

Yuuri was taking a small sips from his cups every once in a while, far more often than the others. Sometimes his hand twitched a little and he lowered his gaze, his face tense and twitching before relaxing into a smile again, but it did not look too good, not honest.

Cialdini followed his gaze. “He is not feeling too well over there,” he remarked.

“No, not by the looks of it.”

“He looks a little like himself from two or three years ago.”

Viktor had guessed that much. He emptied his cup. “I suppose I better go and rescue him.”

Cialdini nodded. “You do that.” And maybe it was only Viktor’s imagination, but he did seem to smile at him.

In any case it added a certain spring to Viktor’s step as he walked over, smiling broadly at the woman who was just telling Yuuri about the most lovely silk she had recently purchased and the dress she was planning to make from it.

Yuuri nodded and smiled politely and with that look in his eyes that practically screamed to Viktor how much he was longing for death’s sweet embrace - at least if Viktor was to put words to it.

“It’s a shame,” she sighed. “Yuuri, you at least could’ve brought back a girl with you rather than another foreigner, at least we would have something to talk about.”

Yuuri breathed out deeply.

“Oh, I bet you have a lot to talk about,” Viktor chirped. “Yuuri, Maestro Cialdini wanted to speak to you.”

He led him away and whispered, “I feel like a groom who just gained the approval of the bride’s father.”

Yuuri, after having breathed a sigh of relief, chuckled. “You did? Great news, considering I had plans to invite him over for supper quite often.”

The rest of the evening passed quite amiable.

Most of their few guests left after three to four cups of wine and a decent amount of snacks, but Cialdini stayed around, trading stories with Viktor who happily told him about Dresden, about Yakov and Yura and about Russalka where Yuuri had performed so wonderfully.

He didn’t even notice the bell to their little house ring.

He noticed only with a side-thought that Yuuri went to the door.

Very clearly though, he noticed how Yuuri came back with two women in tow, only one of them of dark hair and deeply Sicilian olive skin.

Sara looked around and then breathed out. “Well,” she declared, voice sharp as a knife, “here we are. Where’s the alcohol?”

“Oh,” Viktor sighed. “Oh, wait - wait, I will fetch you some!” He turned around and hurried to the table where the jugs of wine were standing, cooled with bowls of water, rather than ice now, at this late hour.

He poured two - no, four, no, five, impoliteness was not the way to go - cups and carried them all over on a small tray of silver-covered tin. It was cheap and gaudy and they had found it for almost nothing at a shop that held only such cheap and gaudy baubles. Viktor loved it to pieces.

“There you go,” he offered to them, “I hope it is appropriate?”

Sara took two cups and handed one to Mila. “Thanks. So. Are you going to show us around?”

“Oh. Yes.” Viktor nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, of course. Uh, come along?”

“I think I’ll take a look around later,” Mila said.

Sara shot her a look of utter betrayal.

Yuuri decided to join in the betrayal. “I think one guide is enough to our house,” he declared, smiling brightly. “It would be unseemly to leave our guests entirely alone.”

Viktor sighed and grabbed both his cup and one of the few still somewhat full jugs. “Well then.” He made a motion with his hand for Sara to follow him.

She did, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “so sleeping alone tonight”.

“I agree and join you in the denial of marital rights,” he remarked, gently.

Sara huffed and looked around the rooms.

“Kitchen?” she asked.

“Yes. The range is not working as it should be, or so the landlord told me. It is up to us to replace it.”

“Kitchen ranges cost a nice bit of money,” Sara remarked. “Deal with the one you have for now. Worst case is that it blows up on your maid while you’re out. Best case is that she figures it out.”

“I hope for the latter. I would hate to employ a girl with the thought that she might be killed or wounded in our service.”

They left the kitchen and walked upstairs where Viktor showed her the bedrooms - one for him, one for Yuuri - “I suppose, tonight is a fine day I make use of mine, at last,” he remarked.

Sara didn’t smile at it. She only looked around. “It’s still quite spartan,” she remarked.

“We did arrive here with very little,” Viktor remarked. “Nothing in the ways of furniture and almost nothing in the way of trinkets. Everything we have we have bought here.”

Sara looked around and then turned to Viktor. “We’ll go shopping then. Next week.” Then she downed her wine.

Viktor blinked.

Sara held out her cup to him and he poured a new drink for her. Thank goodness he had thought of bringing the wine along.

She took a deep sip. “You screwed up, you know that,” she said, voice sharpened by the wine.

“I know,” Viktor mumbled and then felt compelled to down his cup.

“Good.” Sara took a deep heaving, heaving breath. “Don’t do it again.” She downed her own cup and then, unexpectedly, opened her arms to hug him. “I missed you.”

Viktor stiffened for a moment and then, easing, he put her arms around her shoulders, drawing her close. “I missed talking to you.”

“Your grave is gross,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “An abomination. Terrible to look at.”

“It was Yakov’s pick.”

Again he felt Sara let out one heaving breath. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again I’ll make sure that grave ain’t empty anymore.” And now she pulled away to empty her cup with one big swig, one of the sort he had always admired about her. “Well then,” she said. “See you around.” With that she turned around and descended the stairs again, not looking back even once.

Viktor looked after her. He heard her voice mumbling to Mila and Yuuri and then, a little later, the women leaving.

They hadn’t stayed long. They had left after not even an hour and two cups of wine each.

And - and Viktor had a chance. He could make it right. He could not fix the past. But he could ensure the future.

He could do it. He could do it, just like he had done everything else so far. And the prospect of this chance made him happy enough to reconsider his claim of separated beds for him and Yuuri tonight.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is it. This is the actual point I am going to leave this off. They're in Milan. They're happy. They have a future together.  
> And I am pretty curious how you imagine their future to be, so if you want to write something, anything, I'd be more than thrilled.   
> (btw. my resources for opera research were mainly youtube and http://www.opera-guide.ch/ - the latter one is an amazing data bank in multiple languages, containing libretti, their translations, synopsises, vital dates concerning the piece - it's all around pretty great and made writing so much easier. ... you know. Just in case you're as nuts as I am and decide that writing a story containing multiple operas, not all in your native language is a smart idea.)
> 
> If anything I might write little ficlets from their past, but once again - if you wanna go wild, go wild.   
> The only thing that's for sure is that sometime, maybe during NaNo I need to write a story about Yura's first big solo and how a patron with a serious case of the sneezes ruined his big day. (I'm sick rn. A friend invited me to "Nabucco" yesterday. I have an extremely loud, high-pitched sneeze and when sick will produce this sound of a kicked puppy several times in a row. Which I don't wish upon any real life opera singer. Fictional ones, though...)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, folks and thanks for dropping in again to those who followed the main fanfic.  
> Editing part one of the story is still underway - my beta reader for the edited version is almost done with it (and already said, she had a bunch of notes so... ... ... yay?), so I suppose September will not be focussed on going through the second part but instead working through part one again.  
> (I swear, I get it done before the end of 2018 and if it is the last thing I do)


End file.
